War was a new, strange, and terrible thing to George Lawton. For a few
minutes after his thrilling adventure, while the soldiers were binding
with bed-cords the wrists of the three unscathed captives, and Stark and
Flint were ministering to the wounded officer, Snipe leaned against a
tree, the same feeling of nausea and faintness overcoming him now as it
did one day when he saw the brutal beating of an Irish wagoner on Fourth
Avenue. Others of the New England men were searching the premises from
garret to cellar, finding no human beings but two trembling old negroes,
who had never been allowed to regard themselves as possessed of any
rights a white man was bound to respect. The prisoners, sullen,
scowling, and very much amazed that such a thing could happen on the
sacred soil of Virginia, refused to answer questions as to the owners of
the place. The young officer was only just recovering from the swoon
that followed upon the shock of his wound, but the darkies humbly told
all they knew. They were household servants,--slaves, of course. The
farm was owned by a wealthy resident of Alexandria. The farmer and his
family had gone. The young officer was "Marse Grayson," a nephew of the
owner. The other gentlemen belonged to his troop in the cavalry, and
there were four more of them somewhere over toward Centreville. They had
been round there for several days, and signalling to their comrades over
where "Marse Henry" and "Marse Robinson" lived, on the heights beyond
Bull Run. Up in the attic the New-Englanders found candles, a polished
tin reflector, and a flat board screen that just fitted in the window. A
fine telescope and smaller field-glass were also there. A bountiful
spread was on the table in the dining-room. The larder and cellar were
well stocked, and the men from the land of steady habits did not disdain
to "sample" the fluid refreshment found in the cool depths below the
house or the delicacies in the pantry. Out in a wooden shed were four
fine horses, with new saddles and bridles. Opulence was the rule in the
Confederacy the first few months of the war; and now the sergeant and
half a dozen men moved out to the front gate to look for those four
troopers who were supposed to interpose between their feasting comrades
and the possibility of surprise from the direction of the Yankees, and
who, so early in the war, had not dreamed of foemen coming from the
south. Possibly they had heard the sound of shots at the farm-house and
would come galloping back to ascertain the cause. The young officer was
reviving. The flow of blood was stanched. He was laid upon a mattress
and, with six men to carry him, was started down the slope toward the
main body at the bridge. Stark then ordered the party to bring the
horses, captives, arms,--everything that could be considered legitimate
spoil of war,--and follow at once. The signal outfit was smashed, and
Flint, a veteran of the old Covenanter type, was for burning the house,
which Stark forbade, if for no other reason than that it would instantly
bring patrols of Southern cavalry out to inquire the cause. Indeed, it
was a problem with him what to do about the signals. Through the
powerful glass he was able to see that the light still burned on the
distant heights to the south, and at any moment it might brightly blaze
again, asking some question and demanding reply. "Better let them waste
time in endeavors to extract an answer than lose none in galloping over
to investigate a fire," he reasoned, and then turned to where his young
orderly stood, again silently holding the reins of the horses.
"We will push ahead," he said, as he mounted. A few minutes of search
and they found the gap in the rail-fence, and overtook the party
carrying the wounded Confederate. His youth and gentle breeding had both
impressed the taciturn major, and now the fortitude which enabled him
without a moan to bear the pain of this swaying motion roused the
major's admiration. "Gently, men. There's no hurry. We'll have a
surgeon for you in a short time, lieutenant," he said, encouragingly,
then spurred on to rejoin his battalion at the bridge. Sharp and clear
came the "Halt! Who goes there?" of the northernmost sentry, and Stark
reined back instantly as he answered, "Friends,--Major Stark and
orderly." "Dismount, both," was the order, as from a dew-dripping clump
of blackberry-bushes the rifle-barrel glinted in the starlight. A dark
form came running up from the rear, bayonet advanced, and peered
searchingly into the major's face. They had no countersign, but those
lads had learned their duty from a veteran colonel who had practised it
before the Seminoles, the Sioux, and Mexicans, too, and Stark could not
forbear a word of praise to both sentry and corporal as he bade the
latter summon the officer of the guard. In ten minutes the entire
detachment, with its prisoners, was safe within the wakeful lines, and
the whole battalion roused up as one man to welcome and rejoice. A year
later the incident would have been too trivial to stir a man from sleep.
Now it was of tremendous importance. Eagerly Flint's men were detailing
their share in the exploit, some of them, exhilarated both by the event
and the potent apple-jack, telling rather more than their share. Gently
the bearers laid the young officer under the trees. Stark motioned back
the inquisitive circle that promptly formed, gave his patient a long
pull at a flask and another of cool spring water from a canteen, and
then gently asked him which he would prefer,--to be carried into
Centreville or wait there until a surgeon could come out.
"I do not care," said the wounded boy, with a sigh. "Can't you suppress
this somehow?"
"The bleeding?" asked Stark, anxiously. "Why, I thought I had."
"No,--the whole business. I don't want mother to know I'm hurt."
Stark scratched a match and looked at his watch. Just twenty-five
minutes past eleven. In half an hour, as Upton said, the army would be
astir and moving. There would be many another name added to the list
before the setting of another sun. Already, North and South, the papers
were ablaze with tidings of that misguided "reconnoissance in force"
toward Blackburn's Ford, which had felled some sixty men on each side,
sent Tyler's men back to Centreville disgusted, and inspired those of
Longstreet and Ewell with a craze of undeserved triumph. By two o'clock
in the morning the column of Hunter and Heintzelman would be crossing
that guarded bridge on the way to the upper ford, but they would not
wish to be burdened with wounded and prisoners when going into action.
The battalion would undoubtedly be ordered to join its own regiment as
it came tramping along. The general might extract from these prisoners
information which would be of value. Stark's mind was made up quickly. A
lieutenant and half a dozen men were selected as guards, another six to
carry the mattress and wounded prisoner. Lieutenant Payne was given his
choice of the captured horses while Stark wrote brief report of the
affair. In ten minutes everybody was ready. Still bound with bed-cords,
the three silent rebs were bidden to fall in, and then for the first
time did Stark open his lips to his orderly since the brief words at the
farm. In the hearing of half his little command, the major turned to
where the latter stood, silent and a trifle awed and wearied.
"Lawton," said he, "I send you back to the general with this party for
two reasons: first, because you know the way and can guide them; second,
because you made to-night the most important capture of the campaign
thus far, and I mean that you shall have full credit."
For a minute there wasn't a sound. Snipe felt dizzy with the sense of
instant elation, following as it did the languor and depression of the
moment before. Then some sympathetic soul among the listeners began a
soft clapping of the hands. The example was contagious. Before a
repressing word could be heard, the New-Englanders gave vent to their
feelings in a volley of hearty, if suppressed applause. The major had to
order silence and caution. Then handing a folded paper to his orderly,
with a grim smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder, bade him mount and
be off, and like a boy in some wild dream, incredulous, unrealizing,
yet with a heart throbbing with thankfulness, George Lawton remounted
and rode out into the starlight, over the echoing bridge, and took the
front of the little detachment, his cheeks, so pale awhile ago, burning
now with pride and hope, his thoughts drifting back to mother and the
boys. What wouldn't Shorty give to be in his place this night?
An hour later a knot of newspaper correspondents, orderlies, stragglers,
and servants clustered about the party as it rested in the starlight in
front of an old Virginia homestead. On a bed in the rear room the
surgeons had laid the wounded Confederate. In the main room, with two or
three of his staff and half a dozen correspondents pencil-driving about
him, sat the commanding general. Before him, silent and respectful,
stood brown-eyed, long-legged Snipe. The camp lanterns burned brightly
on mantel and table. The sound of many voices, low-toned but impatient,
came from without. Something had blocked the road in front, and the
march of the rear divisions was stayed. The general was vexed, as all
could see,--impatient and indignant. But as he read the pencilled lines,
handed him by the adjutant-general, something like pleasure shone on his
florid, soldierly face.
"You chose the right man, Burnside," he suddenly exclaimed, as he turned
to a stalwart, heavily whiskered officer who entered at the moment, clad
in a pleated flannel blouse, with heavy riding-boots and breeches.
"Look at this," he added, handing up the brief despatch. "I wish I could
inject as much sense into some--generals." Then he turned on Snipe, his
stern face relaxing:
"You have done admirably, my lad. How old are you?"
For a moment the light went out of Lawton's eyes, giving way to trouble
and embarrassment. He twisted his forage-cap in his trembling fingers.
At last, huskily, but with reviving hope, he answered.
"I told them I was eighteen. To-night I tried to prove I was as good as
my word."
A smile went round the room. The general beamed.
"You answer well, sir, and you do well. Major Stark probably can't spare
you or you should join my head-quarters' party and wear the chevrons of
a sergeant. Look after this young gentleman, captain, and see that he
has coffee and supper before he starts back," he said to one of his
aides, who had been silently gazing at the orderly's face. "Your
regiment's time expires next week. Perhaps you would like to come to me
then. If so, there'll be a place for you, and meanwhile the home people
will be proud when they read in Monday's papers how their boy captured
the first rebel officer at Bull Run."
And with these words ringing in his ears, the lad was marched away to a
shed outside where aides and officers of every rank were snatching a
hurried bite from a camp-table, and here he was regaled with sandwiches
and coffee, and plied with questions by men whose pencils sped like mad
over their pads of paper, and they noted instantly his embarrassment
when they asked him about home and parents.
"I have no home," he said, simply. "My father has been dead some years.
My mother remarried. I've been making my own way, and that's all there
is to it." But more they would have. His name, of course, was known.
"George Lawton, private, Company 'C,' First New England, orderly to
Major Stark," and at last the lad said his mother lived in Rhinebeck,
her name was Park, and then he broke away in search of the young captain
to whose care the general had committed him. There was something oddly
familiar about that officer's face as he greeted Snipe again.
"Come in here," said he, leading the way within the hall, and thence to
a little bedroom. Then he turned and faced the wondering lad. "Haven't I
seen you at the Primes' in Fourteenth Street," said he, "and aren't you
Regy Prime's--Shorty's--chum whom they called Snipe?"
There was no answer for a moment, but out came both the young captain's
hands in cordial clasp. "Why, of course you are! I was sure I had seen
your face before. I'm one of Pop's old boys myself, and there are more
of them round here. Shorty's uncle isn't a mile away at this minute.
Lots more of the tribe are somewhere with the army. Why, your teacher,
Beach, is with General Wilcox. He was a classmate of mine, and we're all
proud of you, Snipe. Now you've got to get back to your major to-night,
and I suppose all of us will be fighting to-morrow. However, don't you
forget what the general said. Come to him when your regiment goes home
next week it you want to stay in service, and go on to Richmond with
us."
Alas for soldier hope and projects! Long before the midnight hour came
again all the general's army, some of it in mad panic, was rolling back
on Washington. The Monday morning papers, indeed, gave thrilling account
of the heroism of Private George Lawton in capturing at the risk of his
life a daring young rebel officer of the famous Black Horse Cavalry.
Then there were details of Lawton's prospective promotion, and of the
general's complimentary remarks, and Monday morning's papers teemed,
too, with tremendous tales of battle, and all Gotham cheered itself
hoarse over the vivid reports of the annihilation of the rebel cavalry
by the terrific fighters of the Fire Zouaves. But by noon came other
tidings and a turn in the tide,--by afternoon details of fell disaster.
"The Fire Zouaves annihilated by the cavalry!" was the way it read now.
"Our splendid batteries swallowed up and gone." "Our army cut to
pieces." Many generals, colonels, and captains killed. Hosts of gallant
soldiers slain, and at last, when full reports--authentic reports--were
published a long week later, among the wounded and missing were the
names of Major James Stark and Corporal George Lawton, of the First New
England, and Sergeant Keating, of the famous Fire Zouaves.